


Those Who Walk Without Fear

by ExperimentalMadness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6896704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentalMadness/pseuds/ExperimentalMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a decade since the now disbanded Inquisition began tracking down Solas and much has changed in Thedas in the interim. Stuck in a cold war with the Qunari to the north and enforcing ruthless persecution of the elves that remain, the nations of Thedas are on the brink. It's been five years since Inquisitor Yael Lavellan has disappeared, rumored to have joined her fellow Dalish. Now her adopted daughter Elianwy Lavellan must keep order while quietly protecting her people from the humans. When the old Inquisitor returns under the banner of a new threat her former companions are faced with the painful choice of having to muster their forces against their leader and friend; while Elianwy must uncover the painful truths about her own gods and decide which world she will ultimately save.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long time coming and I thank those who were very patiently waiting for this project. This will be updated every Wednesday around 6:00/7pm EST. For those of you who haven't read some of other previous work on my Inquisitor Yael please feel free to check it out on my Tumblr (same URL for your convenience.) There is A LOT to cover in this story and I hope you like the two next-gen OFCs that will be featured throughout many many of the canon characters we all know and love. :) Please do consider leaving a kudos or a review if you enjoyed it! It means a lot!
> 
> (P.S.: Please do forgive any typos you come across. I try to catch them all, but going at a weekly schedule may make that difficult!)

I

Minrathous was nothing so near as grand as all the stories made it out to be, nor was it nearly as dark and terrifying as the Chantry mothers had spoken of. Imposing? Quite possibly, but most of all Elianwy found the ancient city a sad ruin. She approached it from its only bridge, marveling at the stone spires that crested over its high walls. The Creators knew she had ample time to take in the looming city as the foot traffic across the bridge was something to contend with.

Merchants, messengers, and all manner of people from across Tevinter and Thedas itself seemed to be trying to get into the city today. Elianwy pulled up on her hood to make sure it was steady against the wind. Dorian had offered her an escort into the city, but she had refused. It was better she make such entrances unaccompanied both for his sake as well as her own. As dangerous as it was for an elf to be traveling these days it was doubly so for those caught assisting them. But she had her orders from the Divine herself.

Did she just feel something hit her? Elianwy craned her head to look behind her but only noticed the ever crowded bridge. She gave herself a slight shake. Focus. It was what was ahead that was important, and if she looked any less than any ordinary traveler going into the city someone would see. Someone was always watching.

Shadows loomed large as she passed under the city’s gates and the melancholy seemed heavier now. Buildings, that looked so pristine from beyond the bridge now appeared to be only illusion. Stonework crumbled and cracked, ancient granite and scaffolding held in place by the tightest of magical bonds. It felt as if she was walking through an image from the Fade, frozen, stalled. The feel of the old magic snapped against her teeth like ice. She pressed her tongue against the backs of them. The mages here must surely get used to that sensation.  

Now to find Dorian’s estates. Elianwy fished through her pack to find his most recent letter. The escort was seeming more and more like a practical idea.

“Mistress Lavellan?”

She would not be startled. Elianwy did not turn, merely folded up the letter and placed it back in her satchel before walking on. The voice that had spoken did not sound threatening. But her Keeper had taught her that not all threats appeared as such at first.

“Mistress Lavellan?” the voice inquired again, keeping pace as she moved.

Elianwy felt for the pommel of the sword she had sheathed under her cloak. The grip was reassuring as ever. She moved out from the main square and down a shaded alley. The houses here were even more cobbled together, leaning forwards as if ready to collapse inwards. She picked up the pace. If she could not lose the man through the streets then she would have to be ready to fight. For that she was almost grateful, all the dodging and sneaking about she had had to do on her travels here were intolerable. She’d rather have an enemy she could face head on. There had been a group she had managed to throw off her scent back in Nevarra, but could one of them be following her still? There were enough fanatical groups to fill all of Thedas nowadays, it would do her no good to assume any one of their members were upon her now.

With her thoughts buzzing she nearly collided with the wall in front of her. Dead end. Turning, she reached again for her sword only to come face to face with a young boy, quite winded and red in the face. “Mistress Lavellan!” he panted, skidding to a halt, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees. “Magister Pavus...sent me...to...escort you…”

Fenhedis. “I remember telling Magister Pavus I didn’t want an escort.” Elianwy let her sword go once again, dropping out of her defensive stance.

“He...he said you’d mention that. He said to tell you, begging your pardon, that it was still on his head if your parents found he’d lost you in Tevinter.”

That would have been her father’s doing, no doubt. “How did you even find me?”

The boy merely raised an eyebrow. It was a stupid question regardless. As if Dorian hadn’t set up tracking wards all over the city gates to trip the minute she walked through. Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. “Best take me to him, then.”

Happy to finally be of some use and not chasing her down half the city, the boy perked up. “This way, if you please, Mistress Lavellan.”

She followed obediently, grinding her teeth at her own idiocy. She was never given to paranoia, but this task would try even the most level-headed of agents. Yet the Divine had trusted her with this task and her own father had felt she was ready. Elianwy breathed in deep, there was more at stake than her feelings of humiliation. A lessons he would do well to remember.

The unlikely escort led her out of the slums and into a rather well lit market square. This was a more familiar sight. Merchants with their carts out haggling wears while citizens milled about talking, meeting friends, letting their children chase the birds as they got underfoot. It reminded her of South Reach except far bigger. Hard to imagine that in a few days time the most powerful figures in all of Thedas would be gathering in the city for peace talks.

Minrathous was a labyrinth of streets; how the boy managed to know where he was going was a mystery to Elianwy. They seemed to be moving steadily away from the main hub of the city. The streets had gotten nicer too, less filth and dust coated the cobbled walkways and here the streets seemed paved with obsidian rather than the cracked granite and jet stone. The buildings here were just as old, but there was a sense of old grandeur here that the more common structures lacked. The magic tasted differently, too, smooth against the inside of her cheek. She felt an electric brush of velvet against her skin, a false sense of comfort that she would do well to ignore. She’d rather the ice.

“Here we are, Mistress,” the boy gestured up the steps to one of the homes, as black as the others and twice as old, but there were lanterns burning in the windows that gave it the feeling that at least here there were people residing inside.

Her escort opened the door for her and Elianwy caught herself nearly forgetting to thank him as she stepped inside. It was nothing like she was expecting. Grand, to be sure, but she anticipated no less from her uncle. His tastes always were more bold than any she had seen. Purple drapes decorated the high windows while a crystal chandelier of Orlesian design hung from the ceiling of the foyer illuminating the staircase leading up to the living quarters.

“Magister Pavus wishes you to meet him in his study, Mistress.”

Elianwy nodded, following the boy up the stairs to the second floor where she was left with a bow in front of a rather unassuming closed door. She raised her hand to knock, before pausing to lowering her hood, smoothing back her carefully tied back dark locs, arranging them so that they fell along her left shoulder. Then she knocked.

“That had better be my favorite niece waiting to greet me. She’s already kept me waiting a day later than I had expected.”

Elianwy could not still the smile that spread across her cheeks. “Uncle, I’m your only niece.”

The door was opened at once and the familiar and missed face of her uncle stood in the frame. His hair had grayed some since she had last seen him, but other than that he looked precisely as she remembered when she had been a little girl. Before she could say anything further, Elianwy found herself pulled into a sudden and tight embrace. “By the Maker, Eli, it’s been far too long.”

“I believe that’s your fault, Uncle. You shouldn’t live quite so far away.”

Dorian snorted. “And your father shouldn’t be living down in that dog pen of a country, and yet here we are. Let me take a look at you.” He held her apart, hands on her shoulders as his inquisitive gaze took her in. “How many years has it been?”

“Five.”

“That’s simply unacceptable.”

“I wish this was simply a social call, Uncle, I do.”

Dorian’s smile faltered for half a second. “As do I, Eli. Come inside. Leliana has already briefed me on why you’re here, but the situation has changed some.”

“For the better I hope?”

“I was rather counting on you telling me that. Leliana’s spies have reported movement. Nothing is confirmed yet, but it appears as if your mother is making her way to Tevinter as well.”

Cold welled in her gut as she hissed from between her teeth. “My mother? But...no one’s seen her in years...why would she…” she wanted to ask the more rational questions. If her mother was moving through Thedas again then why hadn’t there been any sightings of Solas? Should she be on alert? Should she send for further aid from the Divine? But she couldn’t form the words. Still after all this time she saw her mother--no, she corrected herself--her Keeper retreated further and further away from her as she chased after her, Father catching her around the waist and hauling her up before she ran out of sight.

She swallowed hard as she felt Dorian’s reassuring grip. “Does she mean to disrupt the peace talks?”

  
“Maker, I hope not. But if the Inquisitor is indeed intent on making her presence known again, then there is no force in Thedas that could stop her.”


	2. Chapter 2

Elianwy sat awake in the small hours of the morning. The accommodations her uncle had provided were far and away more stately than any she was used to. She pursed her lips to stop herself from smiling. That was a Fereldan way of thinking—her uncle would chide her, but she wasn’t cut from the same cloth as him. She was used to rough-worn mattresses, hand sewn quilts and old blankets not soft silken sheets and goose-down pillows. She ran a hand over one of the pillows in question, appreciating the gentle texture, the coolness of the fabric and admiring how the bright, expensive purple matched her midnight black skin. 

She retracted her hand and brought it back over her waist, frowning as she lay back against the daybed. She wasn’t here to admire her uncle’s taste in home decor, nor was she here to daydream like a starry-eyed child. There was work to be done. 

Elianwy let her mind wander back to her meeting earlier that day. Uncle had said there were rumors of her mother approaching the capitol. She dug her fingernails into the bare skin of her stomach once again feeling the contents within roll in protest of her thoughts. 

No one had seen her mother in over five years.

The Traitor Inquisitor, they called her now. Gone back to her people and left Thedas to its own devices. 

Traitor. Madwoman. Knife-Eared bitch. Elianwy had heard every colorful word to describe her, but the only one of any worth to her was Keeper. She remembered a time long ago now when her Keeper would take her up on her lap and bring her outside of their small home in South Reach. How old had she been in those days? Elianwy couldn’t even remember. All that remained was the feel of her Keeper’s arms around her as she pointed up to the stars and told her of the old tales. Of Anduriel and June and Falon’din, and most importantly of Elgar’nan, her mother’s patron Creator. She remember the life that shook her Keeper’s voice, the fervor and grace that she lacked at all other times. She remembered her words most of all. 

“We are the last of the Elvhen. Never again shall we submit,” Elianwy whispered into the ether, staring out the open window into the Tevinter sky. She couldn’t see the stars from here. This far north would they even the be the same?

Rolling over she reached under the bed to pull up her satchel. Rummaging through it she found the old, crumpled letter. Unfolding the parchment she let the satchel fall back down, raising the letter high above her head so that it could catch the most of the candlelight. Elianwy found herself rereading the same message once again, the words still feeling as fresh as they had the day she had first received the missive. 

_ Eli, _

_ This letter will no doubt have beaten you to Val Royeaux, but I have no doubt that her most Holy will keep it safe until your arrival, and read through it herself (hello, Leliana). We spoke before you left, but you’ll have to forgive a father his pride as well as his worry.  _

_ Be on your guard. I have seen enough of diplomacy to know that a conclave can turn into a battleground at any moment. Rely on your training. I would not have agreed to let you go if I did not believe you were prepared. Dorian will watch over you during your time in Tevinter and while I have every confidence in him I cannot say the same for the majority of his countrymen.  _

_ As your Commander I expect a full report. I will be in Val Royeaux, Maker have mercy on me, by the time you return from this meeting. From there we will best be able to plan our next move. And as your father I pray your return is swift.  _

_ I’ve included a little luck to ensure it.  _

_ Be safe.  _

Elianwy touched the old silver coin she wore around her neck as she folded the letter back up and stuffed it away in her pack. Did her father know of the rumors surrounding her Keeper? She did not mind hearing of them but for his sake...she shook her head. Distractions again. Here she was not a daughter she was an agent for her most Holy Divine Victoria, the newly appointed right hand of an Inquisition that did not exist. 

Tomorrow she would congregate with the other delegates in the halls of the Magisterium. Her role in this was a simple one, she went over it again as she followed her breathing exercises. 

Inhale.

Dorian would ensure she would have access to the old palace. 

Exhale.

From there she would trade clothing with another elven servant and stand watching throughout the proceedings.

Inhale.

She would note who had arrived for the talks

Exhale.

She would note who had not.

Inhale.

She would memorize faces and see who was not meant to be there. 

Exhale.

And maybe Solas would show his face. And maybe her Keeper. And maybe and maybe….she lost count of her breaths and slipped into a troubled sleep.

 

* * *

The day was moving into perfect place as Elianwy and Dorian arrived at the halls of the Magisterium. She was safely kept as a part of her uncle’s retinue so no one would question her presence as they entered the old building. It looked decrepit on the outside and Eli half expected a crumbling ruin complete with cobwebs on the inside, but found instead a regal foyer resplendent in the magical glow of veilfire on the torches hanging on the wall and dotting the several chandeliers. 

“Very dramatic,” she noted dryly from the corner of her mouth to her uncle.

“You really must allow us a little of the theatrical. We have little else nowadays.” 

She smirked before her amusement fell away from her. At a nod they went their separate ways: Dorian to greet the arriving dignitaries and Elianwy to find her contact with the rest of the servants and slaves. 

The further down she went the less of the splendour followed. Soon she was surrounded by plain old stone and wood shoring up the walls and the functional uniforms of the servantry over the fashion of the upper echelons of Tevinter society. No one noticed her, not one even so much as cast her a glance. An elf was invisible in the eyes of the shemlen. Normally the old wounds festered at such a reminder, but today she would use their blindness to her advantage. She sped on her way, muttering an incantation as she covered her sword with a minor glamour, bending the light with the help of the Fade to mask its presence. She was capable of doing many things, but giving up her sword was not one of them. 

When she entered the servant’s wing proper she was greeted by a bright eyed waifish young girl. “You the contact Magister Pavus told us about?” 

Elianway was taken aback by the age of the elf in front of her. She couldn’t be more than thirteen, fourteen at most. She nodded silently and the girl smiled. “Good. Good. Uniform’s in the dresser get yourself changed right quick and I’ll take you above again. Got you as a courier. You’ll be able to go in an’ out of all kinds o’ places that way no problems.”

“My thanks.” Elianwy did as she was bid, adjusted her sword higher up on her hip and double checking that the glamour still held. 

The courier uniform was ill-fitting, slightly too big for her frame, but it would serve its purpose. Once she had it on she and her elven counterpart were on their way. The girl was friendly enough, but wisely asked no questions. She hadn’t been much older than her when she had begun her training. 

The winding halls went from hard granite back to tapestry-decked and glowing with magic. “Antechambers in there,” the girl gestured to the wide open great doors. “Keep yourself moving ‘bout the room and no one’ll question it. Might get stopped though. Know how to deliver a letter?” she laughed. 

“I think I can manage,” Elianwy smiled. The girl was good. Unassuming, charming, all the perfect elements for a spy. She nodded once and was off again, ducking and weaving through crowds and other bustling serventry and clerics. Watching her until she was safely out of sight, Eli made her way through to the conclave. 

She skirted around the edges of the room, her courier’s badge keeping her invisible until someone decided they needed her services. Until such a time she had full access to the proceedings before they began. Already she could see familiar faces. The King of Nevarra was sitting with his retinue, ambassadors from Rivain and Antiva were to the right of the chamber, seated in silence and watching the room with a mirrored precision gaze. Eli felt her heart leave her momentarily as she caught sight of Josephine. The ambassador did not see her, but she was glad of her presence nonetheless. 

To the left were her own countrymen and her much beloved King Alistair. She had never been in the same room as the King even though her Keeper had been to court in Denerim more than once, as had her own father. Sitting at a healthy distance was the Orlesian court. Emperor Gaspard masked and dressed rather subdued for the occasion. 

The Anders were noticeably absent, but they had never expressed much respect for the authority of the Divine. There were a few dignitaries from various cities through the Free Marches, but the Prince of Starkhaven was not in attendance, neither was the Viscount of Kirkwall which surprised Elianwy. She could see Seneschal Bran in his stead. Elianwy kept moving least he take notice of her. 

Dorian and the rest of the Magisterium took point on a semicircle dias at the front of the chamber. He was not watching her, but Eli knew he could see her. The proceedings would start soon, and she would need to find a corner to hide in, or perhaps she could use a glamour to join a retinue. 

“No one ever sees an elf,” a deep and honeyed Orlesian voice whispered at her left, “except, of course, for another elf.”

Elianwy inclined her head, hiding her mild surprise and steeling her face to perfect stillness. “Messer?”

She knew the elf that was also clad in the garb of a servant. Her olive dark skin and clever eyes brought back not so distant memories. Eli merely dipped her head. “Empress…” she whispered.

Briala looked mildly amused at her antics. “I believe the other servants are beginning to congregate outside. Might we join them?”

“With all due respect I…”

“I will not take no for an answer Agent Lavellan.”

Elianwy swallowed the heat of frustration and followed the shadow empress out into the main hall, wincing as the doors were shut shortly thereafter. “I do not understand,” she kept her voice light, cool. “You know of what most Holy intends with my presence here...I am to watch the proceedings.”

“You are very young,” Briala said, “Bright, yes, but quite young. There is more than one way to scan a room. And more than one way to get the information you and her most Holy are seeking.”

“Your pardon, your Grace,” Eli bowed, her cheeks warming with embarrassment at the jibe to her age. She was hardly a child! And she would not have been sent on this mission unless every confidence had been placed in her abilities! But arguing with the empress of Orlais was hardly the way to prove that point. 

Briala gestured for her to come away down the hall, further still from her intended target. Biting the inside of her lip, Elianwy made herself walk away from the antechamber doors. “You and I have not had much time to talk, have we?”

“Your Grace?”

“Your parents were not one for Orlais and really who can blame them. I have done my best to make the empire a better one for our people, but still...progress is elusive at best. This meeting, you know what it’s intentions are do you not?”

“Thedas is to prove a united front against the qunari invasions. There is to be talk of shared resources to track down Solas…” Elianwy stopped when she saw Briala shake her head. 

“This is a meeting of shemlen to decide what to do with us.”

Elianwy stopped. “What do you mean?”

“You feign ignorance very well, but you know the heart of the matter as well as I do. With the Dalish missing and the alienages growing emptier with every passing day the powers that be worry what lurks in the hearts of the elves that choose not to heed the call. It is a dangerous time to be an elf, not all are as fortunate as you or I.”

“Your Grace, if there is to be such debate most Holy would never allow…”

“Most Holy is still a shem. Didn’t your mother teach you that shemlen will always follow their own interests?”

“My father is one of those shemlen, with all due respect, your Grace.”

“But you are not.”

The scent of magic slammed into Elianwy’s senses she felt it rattle against her teeth and bones. She reached for the pommel of her sword on instinct. “What in the Maker’s name is….?”

Screams rent the air from the antechamber before a burst of magic blew the giant, iron framed doors down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying this please consider leaving a kudos or a comment! It means a lot! Next update will be next Wednesday evening EST!


	3. Chapter 3

Two thoughts raced through Elianwy’s head as she was slammed up against the far wall of the halls of the Magisterium: what kind of magic could have possibly created such a concentrated amount of force, and how much was this precisely going to hurt? The latter had an answer almost immediately as she felt ribs bruise and light dance across her vision in time to the rattling of her skull.

Biting back a groan she crawled to her feet, shrugging off debris and trying with all her might not to cough lest she hurt her already aching ribs. Shaking her head in an effort to clear it of the dancing lights she fumbled her way through dust and a choking green fog that had enveloped the area. “Empress!”

When all else failed her Elainwy’s Templar training was there when she needed it. Reaching out with a mixture of instinct and the arcane she stilled her innate magic to dispel the fog—a thick confounding thing that seemed to want to lull her into a state of inertia. She was calmed by the presence of her magic. Focus. She told herself. A Templar’s weakness is fear.

All around her was smoke and rubble from the walls separating the outer halls of the Magisterium from the council chamber at its heart. Old, black obsidian lay in ruined chunks on the floor, columns as old as Thedas itself—no doubt—were in shambles. A low moaning cry echoed from the rubble, one that was picked up and carried by many dozens of voices. And throughout was the fog, paralyzing the few guards who would have served as help. Elianwy could see a few—some garbed in the robes of the Argent Spire and the Black Divine’s own personal elite guard. They bumbled about, spears and staves half dropping from limp hands as they stared but did not move.

Dorian would be inside, at the center of the chaos. Josephine too. Her heart leapt into her throat, breaking her concentration. She felt the pull of the fog try and lull her down onto the ground. No! Breathing out, she pushed at the fog around her, dispelling it in a small gust.

“Empress!” She called again. Briala had been at her side just moments ago. The blast could have knocked her back, but she appeared to have vanished. Would someone have blown up half the Magisterium just to get to the shadow Empress? That seemed unnecessary even by Orlesian standards.

Scrapping and shifting at the rubble revealed nothing and only served to tire her out. She turned her attention to the antechamber at the sound of pounding footsteps.

Her kin met her gaze shock for shock.

Elianwy felt her blood run to ice up her spine as she caught sight of the vallaslin of Dirthamen and Sylaise and Ghilan’nain. They stood armed over a crumbled pillar, bows and staves and short swords at the ready. One of them, the one with the Dirthamen vallaslin, seemed mildly impressed. Eli shifted her gaze to see that more Dalish had arrows trained on her. She reached for the pommel of her sword. Creators, she did not wish to be responsible for shedding the blood of her own kin.

The elf with the Dirthamen vallaslin held up a hand and shook her head, giving a wordless signal to stand down. Then they ran, sprinting away over the rubble, flying down the hall towards the spiraled staircase leading to the under chambers where the servants worked.

“ _Mana!_ ” Elianwy shouted. Stop!

She ran with her heart pounding against sore ribs, urging muscles overtaxed and overtired to work as fast as a Dalish hunter. Blood and old curses bubbled against her lips. If these elves were responsible for the destruction here the damage would be incalculable. A snarl crept up the back of her throat as she ran.

“ _Ma banal las halamshir var vhen!_ ”

Maybe there had been a hidden contingent of Dalish in the chamber the entire time, Elianwy tried to rationalize as she tore down the dimly let staircase. No. She would have seen them. How had they even entered the chamber in the first place? There must be an explanation. Everything had one. Even this. Regardless of her feelings there was only one thing that mattered now: making sure none of them left the Magisterium.

Elianwy followed the sound of rushing footsteps, her arcane senses handled the rest. She could feel the other Dalish as easy as if they were directly before her, she wondered if the elven mages in their retinue could sense her as well.

Skidding to a halt down a dead end, Elianwy knew she had the elves cornered. Panting she spat blood from a cut growing on her lip and drew her blade. It shimmered silver as she channeled her magic through it.

“ _Garas quenathra?_ ” Elianwy asked, keeping her distance. There were only six in total. Vastly outnumbered, but not impossible odds. Or maybe that was still the adrenaline suggesting she throw herself into battle.

“To bring an end to an age long in need of one,” a voice spoke from behind.

A familiar voice. Full of fire and warmth, anger and power. Elianwy reaffirmed her grip on her sword as she floundered for her focused center. She did not turn to face who had spoken, but she had no need.

Circling around her was an older elven woman, hair reluctantly graying, lines criss-crossing her face to blend in perfectly with the deep scars that cast canyons across her brown cheeks. It was the vallaslin Elianwy recognized first, however. The blood-red full Elgar’nan shape. The kind at one point Elianwy remembered envying though now she did not know why.

“Keeper,” she whispered.

“ _Da’len._ ”

The green eyes appraised her up and down, an unreachable sadness billowing like a wave within. Elianwy sucked in her breath as her Keeper reached out a hand to touch the blood bubbling at the corner of her lips. “You’re hurt,” but Eli couldn’t tell if she seemed upset by this development or merely curious. She was always that way.

“I am fine. By comparison,” Elianwy stiffened. “Keeper...tell me you did not do this.” The last came merely as a whisper, but the steady gaze from her Keeper never wavered. Elianwy breathed, filling her lungs with anger. “Dorian was in there and Josephine.”

“And they remain there. Perfectly fine. I made certain of it.”

As if this was somehow an end to the matter! As if this made everything even!

“Why?” She would not cry like she had the day her Keeper left. She was no longer the child she used to be.

That earned her a reaction, a small one, a heaviness weighed on her Keeper’s shoulders and she saw the burden bend her ever so slightly. “The explosion was a distraction,” was all she said. “I did not come here for a massacre. I am not like the rest of these shemlen.”

Horror made Elianwy recoil. “You know I cannot let you leave.”

“I know, _da’len_. But in this you do not have a choice.”

“ _Mythal’enaste!_ ” The Dirthamen hunter shouted. “Give us the word and we will have this flat-ear pinned.”

“Take another step!” Elianwy roared. “And I will show you that I am twice the warrior any _Dirth'ena enasalin_ was! You will all lower your weapons and surrender to me.” Her threat was met by laughter. “In the name of Divine Victoria I charge you with crimes against the Chantry and the people of Thedas…”

“You bow to their shemlen god, flat-ear?”

Her Keeper tapped her staff upon the stone floor once and silence radiated amongst the ranks. “So…” her face was tilted towards the obsidian floor. “You are her agent now?”

“Someone had to fill the void you left when you betrayed us.”

She did not mean that. Not truly, but the barb seemed to find its mark and it was satisfying to see a true emotion flicker across her Keeper’s face even if it wounded Elianwy in return.

“We are going.”

Her Keeper’s voice commanded without ever shouting. At her word the elves seemed to disappear beyond the very walls of the building. Elianwy blinked and muttered a counterspell. An Eluvian flickered into sight, glamored into the stone wall. Even if she ran she would not be able to stop them all from fleeing into the beyond.

Her Keeper was the last to go. “You cannot follow us, _da’len_.”

“Keeper! _Fen'Harel ma ghilana_!” It was warning, not insult.

She smiled at that, “No, _da’len_. Not anymore.”

“Then…”

“Help those left behind,” Her Keeper nodded, “Dorian and Josephine...tell them I am…” something twisted in the dark of her eyes. “ _Dareth shiral, da’len_.”

“Wait... _mana_ ! Wait! Stop!” Throwing caution to the wind Elianwy ran after the vision of her Keeper as she passed through the Eluvian. She could reach her, she could get there before she could seal it off. She could ask her her questions. Why did she leave? Why was she here? Where had she gone? Why did she _leave_ ?! “Wait! _Mother_!”

Elianwy’s fist struck glass, hard and unyielding. “Wait…”

But she was gone. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading everyone! Please leave some kudos or a comment if you enjoyed it! If you have any questions about the elvhen I used let me know. :)
> 
> Elven Translations:
> 
> Mana: Stop
> 
> Ma banal las halamshir var vhen: You do nothing to further our people. 
> 
> Garas quenathra?: Why are you here?
> 
> Da’len: little one
> 
> Mythal’enaste: Mythal's favor (in this case it is being used as a title, rather than a phrase or prayer)
> 
> Dirth'ena enasalin: Arcane Warrior
> 
> Fen'Harel ma ghilana: Dread Wolf guides you
> 
> Dareth shiral: Farwell


	4. Chapter 4

“This is the Conclave all over again.”

Similar sentiments were expressed repeatedly as Elianwy made her way back to the council antechamber. The sluggish fog had finally dissipated enough to allow for relief efforts. Tevinter guards lifted rubble with teams of mages while the unmagical sifted through the pull those trapped free. 

She felt tired. Numb in contrast to the energy around her. It was as her Keeper had said. Those fleeing the chamber and taken from the destruction had come away with minor injuries, almost like each pillar and structure had been warded from the start. She had wondered at the snap of the magic that had occurred so suddenly in her conversation with Briala—like cut strings. All the attackers would have had to do was give the columns a gentle push. The force of warded stone striking against the wall would have ricocheted enough to cause ample commotion, but few wounded. 

Focus, she told herself, giving her head a little shake to clear it of the image of her stern-faced and sad-eyed Keeper. Straightening, she picked her way through the mess into the council rooms. To her relief there was her uncle overseeing the entire operation, blood dripping slowly from a cut above his eyebrow. He caught sight of her standing in the blasted doorway, gave his final word to the guards around him and hurried to her. 

“Maker have mercy, you’re alive!” He hugged her rather tighter than Elianwy found necessary, but she found herself unable to resist returning his embrace despite the threat to her discovery and the attention it drew to the both of them. 

“You doubt me still, Uncle? Should I be offended?”

“You’ll forgive my worry, but one does tend to think the worse when an entire building collapses down around oneself,” he laughed, but Eli could hear the tension behind it. 

“How many wounded?”

“Few scraps. Few broken bones. Honestly it’s a miracle there aren’t more serious injuries.”

“Dead?”

“Remains to be seen.”

Elianwy realized she was nodding along a lot more forcefully than she had need to. Her uncle caught her uncertainty, she could see it in the shifting of his eyes and the quirk of his brow. He kept his hands on her shoulders. 

“I saw her, Uncle.” In that moment she felt as if her voice could have echoed across the remains of the council chamber. She felt her throat betray her, constricting down to the eye of a needle. Eli bit down on the inside of her cheek until the pressure lifted. 

Dorian’s eyes widened, his grip on her shoulders grew shaky. “Help the guards, I’ll see to the rest of the rescue efforts. Tell me everything when we’re back at my estate. The Magisterium have ears everywhere, even buried under ten layers of stone.”

A task felt good, more than that it felt reasonable and attainable, Elianwy was able to put on a smile as Dorian clapped her on the back and went back to his fellows. She could see Josephine with him. Her aunt finally caught sight of her, shock momentarily misting her eyes over as she raised a hand to her lips. Elianwy turned away before anyone else could recognize her and with the numbness leaving her she offered up her services to one of the nearby mage guards. 

 

* * *

 

It had been back breaking work, but it had been rewarding. Elianwy stood ramrod straight in the center of Dorian’s study. She had changed out of her servant’s garb some time ago, the process reminding her of the younger elven girl who had snuck her into the council chambers in the first place. Had she made it out unscathed today? She hadn’t been able to inquire in the chaos—more and more distractions, she chided herself. 

Now she stood in the armor that had been bequeathed to her by the Divine herself. The symbol of the Chantry and the Templars emblazoned on the breastplate, but the trees of Mythal were etched onto her vambraces and spiraling up to the shoulder plates was the eye of the old Inquisition staring out. Dorian had scoffed loudly when she had come into the room, but Elianwy was here to report on what had occurred today. Here she was agent, soldier, and right hand of the Divine all at once. 

Tonight it was more than just Dorian in attendance in his home. Josephine and Magister Maevaris Tilani were both seated on one of the divans. Elianwy kept her report crisp, forward, and to the point. Her nerves steadied with her voice—hands clasped behind her back, spine already straining from the unexpected labor of the day combined with the heavy armor. She spoke of the elves she saw flee the Magisterium, the encounter with the Inquisitor, and the eluvian smuggled into the bowels of the building. 

Josephine shook her head. “This cannot be.” Her knuckles were white at the point where her hands met in her lap. “I am willing to believe a great many things, but...think of who we are speaking of.”

“I never had the pleasure of meeting Inquisitor Lavellan,” Maevaris spoke up, her voice collected, “but if the legends surrounding her are to be believed, then this tale certainly lives up to her reputation.”

“Those stories were half-truths at best!” Josephine seemed offended, which struck Elianwy as odd. “I knew the Inquisitor, Magister Tilani. She would never—”

“That’s it thought, isn’t it?” At the sound of Dorian’s interjection all argument ceased. He had been sitting at the chair by his desk, quietly facing the window deep in thought as he had listened to Elianwy reiterate her story. “We  _ knew _ her.”

“Dorian if you are suggesting that the Inquisitor...that  _ our friend _ would purposefully put our lives at risk, I—”

“If I may? The Inquisitor, my Keeper, would do whatever it took to accomplish a goal she saw as a worthy one.” Dorian nodded at Elianwy’s words. “But...you were never in danger. She said as much. I don’t know how exactly, but whatever wards she cast in that chamber she did it to ensure your lives.”

“I suppose that makes this situation better?” Maevaris asked.

“Not in the least, Magister,” Elianwy answered. 

Dorian sighed, dragging his hands down his face and for the first time Elianwy was able to see how old her uncle had become. The fine lines tracing his face and the smattering of gray to his hair all served to highlight how much time had passed. Briefly Eli felt herself cast adrift from the three before her. She felt young, like a child yet not. The uncomfortable rawness of inexperience chaffed. She’d have prefered a straightforward battle. An enemy she could face sword to sword, spell for spell. But when she imagined such a confrontation the face of her Keeper floated back into her vision.

“So,” Dorian broke the stifling silence, “the rumors were true? Yael is an agent of Fen’harel?”

“I don’t think so,” Elianwy shook her head. “She said something to me before she left. She said she was guided by him no longer. I am not sure what she meant.”

“You believe she is working in her own interests now? It would be like her, to have amassed a following and splintered away from Solas,” Josephine mused. “And if she’s split his forces that will make them both weak to outside influence.”

“Pure speculation,” Elianwy grunted. “Begging your pardon, Ambassador.”

“But not one we can rule out. Yael allied with Solas was bad enough, but if she is on her own?” Dorian seemed to weigh his words, “She’s dangerous. Think on it. What does she have to gain by disrupting the proceedings of this council? Discord and disorder in the face of an oncoming invasion that we have barely put off for the past decade. She gets a frightened people scrambling to defend themselves from three shadowed threats and she has the luxury of playing two of them against each other and pick of the pieces herself when the carnage is done. She’s already half succeeded in that today, imagine what she’ll do if we give her a full week?”

“Divine Victoria must be alerted of this threat,” Elianwy concluded. “From there we can mount a counteroffensive. Ambassador, surely we could manage to arrange for a second meeting? There is more reason than ever before to have the leaders of Thedas stand united against any who would threaten her.”

“It is not entirely impossible, but such a council will take time. No one will be willing to risk their lives again so quickly.”

“But at least that is something, isn’t it?” Plans were tangible, solid things of comfort that Elianwy clung to when all else failed. All of this shadow guesswork was not what she was best at and she had wondered why the Divine had not sent her Left Hand out on this task. 

She could see by her audience’s silence that she had won them over to her way of thinking. A thread of confidence wound around her. “Send a message to her most Holy. I will make for Orlais myself and follow up to be ready for whatever countermeasures we decide upon.”

“I will have something drafted at once,” Dorian responded. He rose from his desk. “In the meantime I suggest we all adjourn until the morning. It has been a trying day. Please spend the night here, if you would. I don’t trust the streets this late at night.”

Elianwy was about to bow and make her way back to her chambers when a knock on the study door interrupted her. “ _ Fasta vass! _ ” Dorian swore, following it up quickly with a handwave apology.   
He practically yanked open the door, glaring down at the poor messenger boy who stood wide eyed and out of breath, legs shaking. “P-p-pardon the intrusion, Magister, but there’s been word from the embassy. Emperor Gaspard is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a tad shorter than the last! Next one is longer and will actually feature the Inquisitor. :) 
> 
> As always I hope you're enjoying it. Do consider leaving a comment or a kudos if so! Next update will be next week!


	5. Chapter 5

Yael had almost forgotten what her own First had looked like and she hadn’t even realized it until she had caught sight of Elianwy. She had first seen her in the Magisterium council chamber where she had so cleverly been hiding in plain sight. It had taken a moment before she recognized those constellation bright brown eyes, but once she had….Creators, what a difference five years could make. 

She had been barely up to Yael’s waist when last she saw her. A scrawny, eager thirteen years old with a smile too big for her face. Elianwy had not been smiling in the council. There was a sternness about her, the aura of a soldier. She had always favored the sword more than the staff, however great her love of magic she had dreams of steel. What a hunter she would have made, Yael thought, a true Lavellan warrior that Keeper Deshanna would have been proud of. She had the blood of their clan running true through her veins. 

“You are strangely quiet  _ Mythal’enaste _ .”

“And you speak without thought as usual, Miryam.”

The Dirthamen-sworn hunter was brash and young. She scowled and glowered at her feet as she shuffled through the twisting pathways of the Crossroads. “We do not speak against our own,” Yael reprimanded. “We make no threats against our own. You already know this.”

“I was not the one threatening to turn us into some shemlen imposter,” Miryam grumbled. “Who is she to know our words and speak of the Maker in the same breath?”

“An elf. The same as you. The same as me. Remember who it is you fight for or I shall be less forgiving the next time.” Yael walked on, leaving the young Miryam to gawp after her. 

It was hard to be overly angry at the young hunter. Miryam had much of the same fire that had once inspired Yael when she was her age, that hunger for vengeance for their people, that yearning to right old wrongs and eradicate enemies too long in power. 

She walked ahead of the others as she led her party through the deceptive brightness. There was something distinctly calming about the Crossroads, she never could put her finger on what it was but she suspected it was some archaic form of magic that made her more tempestuous emotions slough off of her. 

Turning down a crumbling cliffside that led to a steep drop off into the gray ether Yael took the first step into the void, only signalling for the others to follow as soon as she felt a solid walkway under the clearness below. Single-file, they wound in a tight spiral up a narrow, invisible pathway until they stepped off onto another one of the floating rocky islands. 

Here an arcane forest grew. Trees barren of leaves, but flowering all the same decorated some of the ledges, while bushes of red and gold fought for space between the rocks. It was secluded here. Not even the eerie wind of the Crossroads could be felt or heard. Once that had chilled Yael to her core, now it was more comforting than she could have said. 

Hunters emerged from behind rocky outcroppings--bows at the ready, staves twirling, swords half sheathed--they stood silent as Yael raised her hand and they nodded at her command, stepping down and returning to their posts. That was far and away the most reassuring site, a small unit of tightly trained hunters protecting what was theirs, it was like being home again.

But which home?

A pang struck her heart as the image of her clan’s old hunting grounds blurred together with a small house just outside of South Reach. Yael curled her hand into a fist and sped up, her party followed her change of pace without question. 

An eluvian stood tangled amongst the bare branches of the trees. Gently Yael reached up to one of the branches and from her touch flowers emerged. Once they had finished budding she reached up a second time. The flowers around the crown of the eluvian caught fire, the ash raining down around her. The Eluvian glowed in response, shimmering like liquid silver. 

Yael stepped through, the coolness of the between slid over her as reality shifted around her. When she took another step everything wrenched back into order. 

“You are later than expected,” a crisp voice greeted her when Yael opened her eyes. She heaved a sigh at the piercing eyes of an older elf. 

“I hope I did not keep you waiting for long, Velanna?” 

The white-haired elf paid her no mind, but Yael saw her taking a mental tally as she counted the number of elves who stepped out of the eluvian behind her. “No losses?”

“Never.”

“You are all dismissed,” Velanna nodded to the rest of Yael’s troop. None of the moved, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as the looked from her to Yael.

She had to resist the self-satisfied smile that wanted to steal its way across her face. “You have done well today. A terrible blow has been struck against the shemlen. Go. Rest. Celebrate. We will strike again before they can recover.”

“Mythal’enaste,” came the unified cry as they bowed before dispersing.

Yael looked over at Velanna, failing just a little to stop herself from grinning. “Don’t scowl so, lethallan, I would not think to dismiss one of your hunting parties before you. They are young, they have respect for traditions. If anything we should be grateful for such considerations.”

Velanna sighed, falling into step alongside her as they traversed the crumbling ruin. Once this must have been a vast palatial retreat occupying its own private corner of the Crossroads, now it was a jumbled labyrinthian maze. “Small favors.”

Yael admired the older elf, a legend in her own right. Once a Warden then an elven freedom fighter, she had heard stories of her when she was still a First of her clan in the wilds of the Free Marches. Velanna had a sharp tone that Yael was all too familiar with and though they often pretended otherwise, she knew they got on well together. 

“Why were you down here to meet me, Velanna? I would think babysitting me would be footsoldier work.”

“You know how he grows impatient when you linger too long away.”

She wasn’t sure if she should feel nervous or flattered at such a bold statement. “He’ll rest easy soon enough.”

“A successful mission, I take it?” 

“Very.” 

There was a sickness that wormed its way through Yael’s gut as she once again though of Elianwy’s shocked and betrayed face, no longer the face of a child. Her soft dark skin had been split at the lip, bleeding only a little. She would need to clean that, though she did not think it had been quite so deep as to warrant stitches or a healer’s touch. When Eli had been younger she would often come back with cuts and all manner of scraps from tumbling about with Assan. That mabari hound loved her dearly. She closed her eyes briefly. 

“Yael? Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly,” she breathed out. “I am only thinking of the long road ahead of us.”

“We will win this.” Velanna placed a surprisingly comforting hand on her shoulder. “I do believe that.”

“As do I.”

Yes, she had to remember that. Everything she did now she did for Elianwy’s sake, for all their sakes. There could be no future for their people under shemlen rule and she had spent far too long kept in the machinations of their schemes. Eli would see, one day.

 

* * *

 

The inner sanctum of the old palace felt more like a temple. The austere high walls were designed to be intimidating, here the stone arches still held up almost perfectly, jagged and overlaid with what Yael suspected was once polished marble. In alcoves carved into the rock were sculptors of the Creators, imposing in their most divine forms. 

She walked the torch-lit halls slowly, but with an even stride that spoke of how often she had made such trips. Her boots padded softly over rotting carpets and mouldering stone. Elves garbed in black armor and holding long spears were spaced between each alcove leading up to a grand dais that stood under the only window. 

These elves were not of her kin. They were older and had woken upon their arrival at this sacred retreat. Their skin bore the same gold-gray tone of the old guardians at the Temple of Mythal. The never spoke to her, but they rapped their spears on the stone as she passed. Yael wasn’t certain if they had simply been commanded to do so or if it was a mark of respect for her rank. 

It was hard to see their faces through the dark helmets, but she could just make out the patterns of their vallaslin, far more intricate than her own. It always made her feel rather inadequate by comparison. 

The large throne, carved in the shape of a dragon’s wing, was empty. Yael sighed, dropping her straight-backed posture to rub at the junction of her elbow where skin met an ironbark prosthetic. Instead she was greeted by another elf. This one was different than his fellows as in place of armor he wore a simple black robe. He bowed as Yael approached the dais. 

“ _ Mythal’enaste _ , you return to us.”

“Well I was summoned wasn’t I?” 

No grin from the elf who merely turned to pull a mechanism at the wingtip of the throne. The stone beneath the seat groaned and slid back with all the grace of a tired old man leaving his bed. “He waits for you below.” 

As he often did unless there was an audience in attendance or a point to be proven. Yael did not stay to share further words with the ancient elf. She merely nodded her thanks and disappeared down the stairs into the chamber below.

It was a far cry from the opulence of the throne room. Here the walls were lit with warm firelight rather than veilfire. The roof was low, and the short hall narrow. She stepped into an old study, walls covered with books and parchment while swords, staves, and all manner of daggers and polearms decorated the spaces in between. A desk littered with papers stood directly across from her, a hearth blazed at her right and on her left was a high-backed chair that was almost as severe as its owner who was currently immersed in the map he had spread out on one side of his already cluttered desk. 

Yael still could not get over how different he looked from her expectations and yet at the same time, how he managed to have met all of them. He was tall for an elf, looming and lithe. Normally he wore a similar obsidian black armor as his guard, but he had divested himself of it currently, clad instead in a tunic that looked wildly out of place on him. 

“You are late,” he said without looking up, voice enhanced with a magic that made it rumble and reverberate in Yael’s chest. 

She bowed curtly. “Late, but victorious. The latter I believe should make up for the former.”

At that he did look up, catching her full attention with his unearthly yellow eyes, a grin at the edge of his lips. “Lavellan if I did not find you so competent a warrior I would have killed you for the tone you take with me.”

“Only competent?”

He laughed. It was a roaring, exuberant sound, but there was an undercurrent of cruelty in it. “Report, my general-who-does-not-fear-death, and spare me your quips until after.”

Yael bowed her head again. “As my lord Elgar’nan commands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are happpppening. :) 
> 
> As always if you're enjoying the fic please consider leaving a kudos or a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

“Wyvern poison? Are you certain?”

Her Most Holy Divine Victoria stood haloed in the blue light of the sending crystal. Even with the distortion of the magical connection Elianwy could still see the lines of consternation marking her brow. She nodded. “Both the Emperor and the old King of Nevarra, Most Holy. It would have taken several hours and in the chaos of the explosion who would have been able to acquire the necessary antidotes?”

“What of King Alistair?” 

There was no mistaking the subtle twinge of worry at the edge of her voice. “He is fine, Most Holy, last I heard he had received an antidote despite being in good health. We’re still unclear if he was targeted at all. I thought it would be best if all leaders present at the Magisterium received doses. Dorian oversaw it.”

Her uncle took a break from his pacing to nod in the direction of the sending image before returning to his frantic shuffling around his study. They had both been awake for nearly two days at this point, but Elianwy couldn’t afford to let it show. She could feel herself swaying gently on her feet. Between the emergency council meeting after the Emperor of Orlais and the King of Nevarra were discovered dead, the deliberation behind the cause of death, and tracking down the various other notable dignitaries to ensure they received a sufficient amount of wyvern venom antidote….it had been a long, never-ending day. 

The Divine pinched the bridge of her nose. “She wanted us to be chasing our tails.”

“Pardon, Most Holy?”

“The Inquisitor,” she clarified. “If you hadn’t been present to see who had instigated the attack it could have taken us days--weeks--to discover what had occurred. Yael always approached an enemy head on, but no one ever said she wasn’t clever about it.”

“That is what I can’t understand, Most Holy. If the Inquisitor’s intention was always to assassinate Thedas’ leaders why not let the explosion take care of them all? Or why bother with an explosion when they were going to use poison anyway? It doesn’t make sense.”

The Divine said nothing for a while and Elianwy shifted from foot to foot wondering how she had perhaps offended her to merit so late a response. 

“It’s a message.”

Now Eli was even more confused, but before she could ask for further clarification her uncle spoke from his side of the room. “Yael was made Inquisitor from a similar explosion at a peace conclave. It placed her as the authority of the Chantry. It made her the most powerful after Divine Justinian perished.”

“So...what? She wants to send a message that she’s no longer part of Thedas? No longer serving the Chantry. Would she be that petty?”

Eli felt her cheeks grow hot as Dorian and the Divine shared a laugh. There was a joke in all of this that she was not privy to. When the laughter died down a heavy pressure seemed to fill the air, snuffing out the false merriment. 

“Most Holy,” Elianwy cleared her throat, “there is only so much I can do working from the shadows here in the Imperium. Surely there will need to be forces set up around Orlais to prevent chaos? And legions sent to Nevarra and the Marches? The people will want to know the Divine stands with Thedas. And...and I would request protection in the remaining alienages for the elves, Most Holy.”

The Divine smiled and Eli wasn’t certain if it was affectionate or if it chilled her blood. “You are ready to fight a war and you don’t even know which direction to point your weapons.”

“I know something must be done and soon! Begging your pardon, Most Holy.” Thank the Creators and the Maker her cheeks were dark enough to hide the most furious of blushes.

“Best not let Lord Seeker Cassandra here that talk or I’ll be hearing the same song from both of you in short order. But never fear, Elianwy, you’re not to remain in Tevinter.”

Eli hoped her eagerness didn’t show as she perked up. She bowed her head humbly, hands clasped behind her. “What would you have of me, Most Holy?”

“Rendezvous with the Left Hand in Tantervale. I will require both of your aid in restoring order in Orlais. She already has her orders to await your arrival. From there she will brief you on her mission.”

No one knew the Left Hand of the Divine. Elianwy blinked owlishly and hoped she wasn’t standing with her mouth hanging open. Her Most Holy played her cards close to the chest. No one knew of the identity of her Hands. Most of her own training had been done close to the Sunburst Throne as her personal shadow guard. Rumors moved through the Orlesian courts as rumors always did about who the Right Hand was, but for as much gossip as there was about her own identity no one spoke of the Left Hand. 

“Most Holy,” she found her voice again, “how will I know who to look for?”

“She will know you.”

It was a cryptic way to end their correspondence, but before Elianwy could ask any further questions the connection to the sending crystal was cut away. “Fenhedis.” She kicked the leg of one of Dorian’s desk. “Tantervale is more than a week’s travel from here and double that back to Val Royeaux. What is she thinking? I need to be in the capitol. I should be the one to--”

Dorian placed his hand on her shoulders, but Eli shrugged out of them. “Leliana obviously has something of importance that she can only trust to you and her Left Hand. That is more vital than your presence in Orlais.”

“No. She’s keeping me out the empire. She’s coddling me.”

“Strange way to coddle someone, sending them off on a Maker’s unknown quest in the Marches to meet with a spy no one’s ever even seen,” Dorian snorted. 

There was no sense in complaining about something so trivial. Elianwy let her annoyance slide off of her. “You’re right, of course, my apologies I’m just very tired. I should rest up. I’ll need to leave Minrathous at first light.”

She could see him opening his mouth to convince her to stay awhile with him. No doubt to talk about all that had happened, but that only brought her frustration racing back. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to be asked how she was. What she felt. What it was like to see the great Inquisitor again. None of it mattered. What mattered was the next step, the next task. What mattered was making sure Thedas remained secured and that the Divine was kept safe. And she couldn’t do that by having a quiet conversation with her uncle in his study while the world fell down around their ears.

“Good night, uncle. I’m sorry for snapping at you.” It was all she could say by way of apology, but she still couldn’t seem to placate the misfired anger rolling within her as she turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

In her dreams the Fade was always peaceful. Elianwy lay staring up at the setting sun out in the fields of her home back in South Reach. In the distance she could hear Assan barking for her to come back inside. This was where she could think. If she concentrated hard enough the image would flicker and she’d be aware of the green mist swirling about her, and the floating rocks and broken memories of cities. Once she was terrified of the Fade. When she first was transported there as a child she refused to sleep for days. She had run into her parents’ bedroom and crawled into bed with them. Her mother told her of the wonders of the Fade and banished her fear while her father would stroke her hair and tell her they would keep her safe.

Elianwy rolled over and sat up, the illusion of her home melting away. A wisp hovered at her side, it’s greenish head tilting in something that looked like confusion. She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sorry, you were doing a good job, it’s not your fault.”

It glowed for half a moment before vanishing, no doubt to find more pliant dreamers with not so restless thoughts. 

The Fade was full of terrors, but spirits were more or less the same as people once you spent enough time among them. Some of the little wisps merely wanted to bring you a sense of peace. They formed most people’s dreams though they never realized it. Other spirits could be more demanding while the demons hungered for more than they could ever hope for. She stopped fearing their presence a long time ago. 

Elianwy stared up at the Black City forever hovering far above the Fade. There were worse things than demons to fear, after all. She jumped when she looked back down as a wolf with many hundred red eyes was level with her. It stood still, snuffling against her locs as she sprang to her feet. 

Speaking of demons! Elianwy reached for her sword, the blade was astral in the Fade and hummed with and electric bite she had come to rely upon for protection from these parasites. “Go find another to tempt, demon.”

The many-eyed wolf merely sat back on its haunches, its ears perked up. Elianwy kept her blade up as she circled the creature. It was unlike any demon she had ever encountered before and it was strangely quiet. Most demons were chatty things, some unable to shut up and easy to trap in a word game if one had the patience. This one, however, looked like all it wanted to do was observe. To gather her scent. 

“I know who you are.” Of course she did. How she had not recognized him before was a mystery to her. “You’re no demon.”

The creature tilted its head, opening its maw to reveal a black hole sparkling with more teeth than seemed possible. “Fen’harel,” she whispered. The wolf merely blinked and tried to stretch out towards her. “Stay back!” Elianwy thrust her blade out. “You may not be a demon, but I am no apprentice. I am the First of Clan Lavellan and the Right Hand of the Divine.”

The wolf panted and Eli had the distinct feeling it was mocking her. “What do you want?”

It threw its head back and howled, a deep mournful sound that pierced the silent air of the Fade and made Eli’s ears ring as if someone had hit her over the head with the pommel of a blade. The very nature of the Fade shifted at the sound. Wind whipped against her skin hot and cold and sticky with humid rain. It choked, the dampness was cloying and caught in her lungs, droplets filling her mouth, her nose. 

She went to her knees, blinking through the hurricane as she found herself staring up into the eye of the storm. The Fade blurred together, melted and burned. Eli looked down at her hands and saw the Fade fusing to her skin. Bright green and shimmering like dragon scales. She clawed frantically at her arms, but it stuck fast. Then the Fade was in her eyes, her bones, her muscles and when she opened her mouth to scream a roaring sound of a maelstrom drowned her out until she woke to gasp out a breath like breaking up through the ice. 

Elianwy fell from the bed, untangling herself from the sheets. She looked down at her arms half expecting to see the remnants of the Fade on her own skin instead she saw only comforting dark brown. A nightmare, she breathed out. The first she had had in ages. 

Breath was still hard to fit into lungs that seemed to have shrunk down during her dream, but she focused her energies as she stood up and lit the candle at her bedside. She sat down on the edge of the bed, the candle flame burning shadows around her. 

A dream was never just a dream for a mage. Dreams carried a warning or a meaning or the machinations of a spirit. So which one was this? Yael knew Fen’harel could walk the realm of dreams, but why would he come to her? To intimidate her? Well she was not so easily frightened! 

Wrapping a robe around herself she plucked the candle from the stand and made her way from her room. No sleep for the rest of the night, that was for certain. Maybe Dorian would still be awake regardless of the lateness of the hour. Padding down the quiet halls of his estate Eli could almost believe she was still in the Fade. It was still dark outside, not even close to dawn. The servants wouldn’t even be awake yet. The only light came from the moon streaming in through the high windows.

Elianwy knocked upon the study door. “Uncle?” she whispered. No answer. Maybe he had retired after all. Probably for the best. If she truly did reveal what she had dreamed she might end up regretting it. 

She was making her way back to her room when she heard a voice coming from the room adjacent to the study, her uncle’s bedchamber. So he was awake after all, she knew it! 

“You should get some sleep while you can,” she heard him say. Oh so he had heard her knocking on the study door. She opened her mouth to reply when she heard someone else respond to him. 

“Just because Iron Bull’s snoring doesn’t bother you doesn’t mean anything.”

Her father? Elianwy jerked away, heart pounding. What was Dorian doing talking to her father at this hour?

“You get used to it. How far out from Val Royeaux are you?”

“Another day’s march at most.”

“And…”

“And? I’ll take my orders from the Divine once I arrive.”

“Cullen, you can’t honestly expect me not to--”

“Yes I can. I do, actually. I’ve heard the reports. News travels fast. I’m glad you and Josephine are alright. But more than that I won’t discuss.”

“You are only getting more stubborn the older you get, do you know that?”

“How is Eli? Is she well?”

“Of course she is. Aside from the fact that she just saw her mother--”

“Dorian!”

“--blow up half of Thedas after not seeing her in nearly five years.”

“You say anymore and I’ll smash this crystal.”

“You called me, I believe.”

Silence from the other end and Elianwy realized she had been holding her breath for half that time. She breathed out gently, careful not to let it rattle through her and give her away. 

“I miss her too, Cullen.” Her uncle sounded more mournful in that instant than he had throughout the entire crisis. 

“Did...did you see her? Tell me you saw her.”

“No, my friend, I wish I had.”

“Right. Right. Forget I asked. I...I should go.”

“Cullen, you know I’ve mostly given up trying to speak to you about this, but please if you need--”

“I’ll see you in Val Royeaux, Dorian.”

“Cullen? Cullen? Ah, Maker take you!”

Elianwy backed away from the door as she heard her uncle throw something hard against the wall before she heard the unmistakable sound of restrained sobs. She kept walking back and back until she disappeared into the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in my weekly updates! Last night was unexpectedly busy for me! Things are getting underway for Elianwy and co.
> 
> Next week will feature a Cullen POV chapter...and I apologize ahead of time. 
> 
> If you're enjoying the fic consider leaving a kudos or a comment! :) I really do love hearing from you all and I'm so pleased and grateful to those who have commented and left me kudos. You're the best!


	7. Chapter 7

It only took crossing into the threshold of Val Royeaux to remind Cullen why he hated this city. He and Iron Bull had decided to take the less auspicious route and enter through the Night Gate, but even here there were eyes on them. The people here stared and gawked by nature—somehow they managed to do so even without raising their heads. Cullen could feel their eyes on him. They were hardly inconspicuous, he rationalized, and a qunari, even one so beloved as The Iron Bull, was bound to draw some attention to them. 

He clicked his tongue and urged his mare to walk on through the thoroughfare. Bull lumbered at his side on his steady dracolisk. Cullen had urged him to take one of the larger draft horses when they had met at his estate, but Bull wouldn’t have it. The vicious looking lizard was as tame as a pony, but its bright green scales and terrifying jaws didn’t exactly give it an endearing impression. 

“If you don’t ease up on those reins that horse is going to buck you off right into the nearest fountain.”

He hadn’t even been aware he had been holding the reins that tightly. At Bull’s rumbling laugh Cullen eased up. It was this blasted city! The high walls and the crowded buildings! It had wrecked havoc on him when he was younger and such annoyances had only gotten worse with age. Cullen gritted his teeth, tracking the spires and rooftops until he could make out the Grand Cathedral. Only a short distance between here and the University district. Then they could receive whatever orders The Divine had for them. 

He’d rather there were no orders and he had never been summoned back to Orlais. 

He’d rather be back home at South Reach tending to his land and overseeing the Templar clinic. 

He’d rather his daughter not have been sent have a world away to Tevinter to deal with matters that should never have been hers to deal with.

He’d rather a great many things. A heaviness settled in the center of his chest as he shook off such thoughts. The weight had been easing of late. Remarkable how it only took a few short seconds to have it all come crushing down on him again. 

“What d’you think ol’ Red wants with us?”

“Best not let her Holiness here you call her that. Maker knows what she’d be forced to do.”

Bull snorted and Cullen wondered how the man managed to still have the same boisterous energy he had always possessed. He hadn’t even appeared to have aged since Cullen had last seen him. He wished he could say the same for himself, he thought as he lifted up a hand to brush back greying curls. 

“I don’t know what she’ll want,” Cullen admitted with a sigh. “Originally I was intended to meet Elianwy here after the talks concluded to help advise on potential plans for….” he cleared his throat.

“How to handle the Qunari, right? You know the small benefit of being Tal’Vashoth is that we’re on the same side.”

“Sorry,” and he meant it. “At any rate, this? This has changed everything.”

He had been woken in the middle of the night to the sending crystal glowing at his bedside. For half a moment he had thought that it might have been….but instead he had come face to face with Leliana and in a way his prayers had indeed been answered. Shouldn’t he have learned by now that the Maker never gave anything without first destroying? And just like that he had felt himself transported back to Skyhold and to the chaotic days of the Inquisition—receiving missives from the Inquisitor’s whereabouts and being summoned to emergency meetings around the war table. 

“Hey, Cullen, you don’t think  _ she’s _ here right? I mean, you don’t think she would have reached out to Red on her own do you?” Bull sounded almost hopeful, for some reason his hope was abhorrent to Cullen.

“Bull…”

“Here me out. It’s crazy what happened in Tevinter. And Yael’s many things, but she’s not crazy. What if there’s another reason to what happened? Another reason that none of us have thought of yet? She’s got Leliana summoning half the Inquisition back to Val Royeaux. She had to have known she’d get that kind of response. What if she needs our help against Solas and this was her only way of reaching us?”

The heaviness within intensified and Cullen found himself clutching the reins far too tight again. His mare tossed her head, catching him in the face with her mane. What if she was here? Just a few steps away? But why would she have come back now of all times? And why would she have risked the life of her friends to do it? 

“No,” Cullen made himself say, forcing the word out in one painful breath. “She’s not here, Bull.”

“But she might be. It’s possible. Tell me it’s not possible!”

He remembered the last words she had spoken to him the day she had left.  _ When my people are free I will find you again, ma’vhenan _ . It was the last thread of hope he had left to him. 

“We should hurry,” Cullen snapped, digging his heels into the mare’s side and forcing her into a light trot. “The Divine is not a patient woman.”

 

* * *

 

It was frightening how easy it was for one to get lost in the halls of the Great Cathedral. The palatial temple was simple enough to navigate—the wide rectangular halls sprawled out in only two directions from the Sunburst Throne’s courtroom—yet the sheer distance one could put between themselves and the center could lead one into far flung corners. Cullen was almost counting on it. He had taken the long way to the throne from the guest chambers that had been set up for him in the easternmost wing. 

He repeatedly smoothed down slightly wrinkles in his uniform coat. He hadn’t worn his full Inquisition uniform since they had been on trial at Halamshiral, to be honest he was surprised it still fit. 

Eyes were on him again. Far subtler than those of the common folk in the streets, yet much more severe. He stopped smoothing out--now invisible-wrinkles and picked up his pace, walking with his fists hanging down, tight as shields at his side blocking him from scrutiny.

For one painful moment he half expected Yael to come racing up behind him to loop her arm through his, curl her hand about his fist, and whisper about her latest creative way to murder half the nobility in Orlais. Less of an amusing thought to have given recent circumstances, he supposed, but, Maker, how he missed her wicked jokes. 

The nobility hadn’t stopped sending him proposals. Even while he and Yael were ensconced in South Reach the letters never ceased. He’d often find remnants of messages turning to ash in the fire where Yael had thrown them. They had picked up since word of her disappearance reached the public. Why they had such an interest in him only the Maker knew. 

“Cullen!”

Iron Bull never gave a whit for human notions of propriety and Cullen thanked Andraste for it as he watched his friend push past a group of finely dressed petitioners to reach him. The breath left his lungs momentarily as Bull clapped him on the back. “Ready to go in and see Red?”

“If it gets me out of Orlais all the sooner, then yes.”

They fell into step alongside one another. Cullen shouldn’t have felt grateful that all eyes were now trained upon Bull, but it was a small relief to walk up to the doors of the Sunburst Throne with no one giving him any note. 

A crowd was hovering already and it was only just morning. The nobility were permitted to wait to petition for the Divine’s blessing indoors while the rest of the citizenry had to queue outside. To Leliana’s credit she now took the commoners petitions first and left the nobility to weight for hours on end. It did give Cullen some pleasure to see the disgruntled and tired faces of the well-powdered and finely dress as they waited for the first time in their lives most likely. But it did give people time to gossip.

“Is that The Iron Bull? Maker, his name certainly leaves little to be imagined doesn’t it?”

“Things must be far more serious than we’ve been told if The Iron Bull and the Commander of the Inquisition are here. What do you think they’ve been summoned here to do?”

“Bring the Traitor Inquisitor to heel, no doubt. That’s what comes of raising up a rabbit. It was always only a matter of time.”

Bull placed a hand upon Cullen’s shoulder as he tensed. From the corner of his eye he could see the two men leaning forward, as if not to let their voices carry, but he knew it was only a mock whisper. They wanted to be heard. Cheating Out, Leliana had once told him. A trick of the Game, incendiary gossip at a false whisper to suss out a rival’s true feelings. If they responded with a challenge the rumors were true. If they said nothing, well, rumors continued either way. 

“Didn’t the Commander marry her?”

“Indeed. Set half the court on its head.”

The pressure of Bull’s hand rooted Cullen to the floor. He became keenly aware of every muscle in his body. 

“Ignore it,” Bull whispered. “Fools looking for a fight. Red’ll call us in soon. We’re here for her and Yael. Remember that.”

Yael. She would never stand here and let them speak of her in this way. He remembered how disastrous her attempts at diplomacy usually fared when Josephine would host various dignitaries at Skyhold. How she’d hold her tongue to a point before her natural fire would spring forth. He always had to stand firm with his fellow advisors and beg her to calm down, but alone he’d show her just how proud he always was of her fierce boldness and the respect she carried for herself. 

“Left him. Well I suppose it wasn’t a real marriage was it? Imagine marrying an elf! May as well marry a mabari.”

“Knife-ears have no loyalty to anyone, but themselves. I’m sure the Commander has learned that lesson.”

Bull’s hand suddenly lifted off his shoulders. “Nevermind. If you don’t punch him I will.”

Cullen didn’t have to be told twice, he turned about like a man in a dream. He wasn’t much of a brawler, but he kept his stance strong and carried his full weight forward with his fist as it collided into the jaw of the last man to speak. He felt his knuckles bruise in time with the satisfying crack he heard from the bones in the nobleman’s face. A gasp and several screams went up from the onlookers as he went down and did not rise.

Cupping his hand Cullen looked up at the other gossip who was staring down at his unconscious comrade with something akin to fear. “Anything else you’d like to say in regards to my wife?” he inquired just as the Divine’s personal guard burst through the throne room doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me for another week of updates! I'm so happy you are all enjoying this little project of mine.
> 
> And a special double thanks to those who have left comments and kudos! Means the world. :)


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